


Hat Trek

by MelonCoup



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Hat Films, IN SPACE!, Minor Spoilers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 04:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12335631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelonCoup/pseuds/MelonCoup
Summary: To Boldly Go Where No Banter Has Gone Before





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction! Creative feedback welcome as I'm always looking to learn and improve.
> 
> Inspired by the latest Star Trek series, I've thrown the Yogscast into the 200 years into future! The Federation has been plunged into war with the brutal and bloodthirsty Klingons. Captain Smith leads the USS Earhart and her crew through the thick and thin of day to day life during wartime. But can he keep them all safe?

The first volley slammed against the Earhart. The salvo plunged into the naked hull, exploding and leaving behind deep, scorched wounds.  
“Divert power to shields, return fire!” Commander Hornby managed to cry out over the blast of alarms and destruction on the Bridge. Captain Smith was almost thrown from his chair as the impact rocked the deck beneath him.  
“Helm, evasive manoeuvrer Alpha-Seven,” He ordered.  
The battlefield suddenly became like a fluid substance as ships, projectiles and flames danced around one another.  
It had all happened in a heartbeat. The Earhart along with nearly a dozen other Starfleet vessels had raced out to meet the Shenzhou which claimed to have engaged the Klingons. Even the sceptical Lieutenant Trott had raised a shocked eyebrow when they had arrived and seen for themselves the alien warships. The two sides had stood at a face-off like chess pieces. Now the game was in play. 

Another hit lurched the bridge crew to port, emphasised by a resounding thunder.  
“Damage report,” Smith ordered. At the back of his mind he registered his thumping heart, and sweaty palms gripping the armrests of his command chair.  
“Hull breach on deck three, emergency shields are holding.” Lieutenant Trott replied from the console to his left. To his right Commander Hornby was keeping his eye on the sensor display of the battle as it unfolded.  
“The Edison has a straggler, let's take some heat off their tail.” He spotted.  
“Kim, take us across.” The Captain called out, and the young helmsmen translated the order into action.  
The ship turned and rolled along its axis as it reached full velocity, dodging several torpedoes and nearly clipping the USS Shran in the chaos. The Earhart lurched up and found itself racing behind two vessels. 

The Edison at the front of the line was doing its best to shake her attacker, whilst exchanging a torrent of heavy fire to and from the Klingon ship in pursuit.  
“Phasers and torpedoes locked on, Captain.” Tactical announced, his statement illustrated by the cross-hairs hovering over the enemy on the viewscreen.  
“Co-ordinate your fire with the Edison's tactical officer, fire at will! Helm stay hot on their heels.”  
There had barely been any time to process the situation as it unravelled. The Klingon attack was ruthless and efficient - as much as Smith hated to admit it – but that only meant they had to stay one step ahead, and hit back that much harder. He didn't have to glance at his crew to know they all felt the same way. The tension on the bridge was electric.  
On the viewscreen, Smith watched in horror as the Klingon warships latest volley broke through the shields and ripped a sizeable hole in the aft of the Edison. In the same instant their joint firepower simultaneously obliterated one of the enemies engines, consuming it in a blaze and sending the vessel careening off and out of view. Kim gave an unrestrained whoo! and threw her hands in the air at the sight. Hornby smirked.  
“Message from the Edison, audio only.” Lieutenant Trott declared. A voice projected from the audio speakers around the bridge.  
“Thanks for the assist, Earhart,” Came the Captains voice.  
“Don't mention it Brindley, we'll send you the bill.” Smith replied, closing the channel. “How's it looking?” He directed at the Commander, wanting to know the balance of the battle overall.  
“The Yeager, T'Plana Hath and Shenzhou are taking big hits, only minor damage to the Klingons.”  
Another torpedo hit sent a jolt through the ships structure, a burst of sparks showered from the ceiling.  
Trott stated a drop in shield strength, and Smiths temper swelled inside him. He could only imagine the causality reports by the end of it, the needless loss of life. The battle had to be wrapped up, and soon. He examined the scanners with furious determination.  
“Where's the Europa?”  
“Almost here.”  
“Then let's even the playing field, have the Kerala and the Dana move along side us, we're gonna hit the big bastard at one-zero-four.”  
“We see them,” The Commander confirmed. 

As the Earhart whizzed off, it began to move away from the main bulk of the battle, taking pot shots at a slower enemy vessel limping off in the same direction. With the Kerala and Dana flanking either side they performed a barrel roll. The ships swung through their arc as one like majestic birds. From their new vantage point the entire battle was in sight. It was a mess. Smith could see several friendly ships being ganged upon, the T'plana Hath was pretty much a chunk of hull engulfed in flames, and the Shenzhou was drifting away from the fighting, it's hull battered and broken, lights flickering as it barely clung to life. There was no time to waste. Smith pressed a button on his control panel.  
“All ships, begin attack run.” 

In unison the three ships charged back into the fray. Their quarry lay directly ahead: a large bulky vessel lumbering lengthways from their perspective. Its large mass made it an easy target. Together the trio unleashed their combined phaser power in a relentless volley, raining hell against the shields. As they closed the distance the Klingon vessel turned attention from its former target to Earhart and Co. Smith felt the deck plating rumble beneath him as they received return fire. Their target quickly filled the screen as they flew towards it at breakneck speeds.  
“Launch torpedoes,” Came the order from the Captain. All three vessels unleashed their payload as the Klingon ships shields buckled. The viewscreen displayed a sea of flames as the ships pulled back and finished their run.  
Trott checked his sensors, “enemy ship disabled,” he declared with unrestrained relief.  
“Get in!” Commander Hornby cheered.  
Smith shared the joy they felt, but they couldn't celebrate too early. The odds were still stacked against them. They were still outgunned and if they weren't careful, or luck shunned them, they would be done for.  
“Sir the USS Europa has arrived,” Crewman Frost said, then after a moment he added, “They've called a cease fire.”  
Smith rose a hand at the Commander, gesturing to follow the Admirals orders. He also noted the breathless tone in the Ops officer. He had just got his first taste of battle, one he would never forget. 

The Klingons must have received a similar order, as the battle came to a screeching halt. At the Captains behest Kim brought the ship to a stand still. To anyone watching it would have appeared that time itself had frozen. Nothing seemed to dare move lest it be the catalyst to start the battle all over again. The only tell tale sign that any carnage had occurred at all was the blasted debris that was scattered like confetti, littering the wastes of space.  
The Captain blew a lung full of air, releasing the tension he had held onto for what seemed like an eternity. He leant in his seat towards Lieutenant Trott.  
“Deck-by-deck I want casualties and damage.” He ordered. The subordinate gave a curt nod and immediately set to work on his console.  
Commander Hornby moved back to his Captains side, his eyes fixed on the monitor. A Klingon ship had slid down in front of the Earhart as it stopped, and now it loomed ominously.  
“What happens now?” The man wondered aloud.  
“Now, we pray we can negotiate our way out of interstellar war.” Smith replied grimly. “Since the fightings stopped I assume the Admiral has entered talks with their leader.”  
“We don't see Klingons properly for a full century and this is how they say hello?”  
“What's the status of the fleet?” The Captain queried, attempting to draw attention to more practical matters.  
“Just a sec.” Hornby moved off to check the scanners as Trott stepped over with a PADD. Smith nodded his thanks and checked the numbers.  
The battle had levied a heavy price. The initial attack had been the worst of it. Catching them off guard had caused the most damage and injury, after that the engineering crew was able to mitigate the impact of the battle to a few scrapes and bruises. He made a mental note to offer them his thanks later. Sickbay was currently treating wounded, so far nine dead. Christ, Smith cursed.  
For the moment, as much as it unsettled him, they would have to remain numbers - figures to add to his after-battle report – rather than once living, breathing officers who had served loyally under him. There would be time to grieve later. 

Commander Hornby began relaying the disposition and damage of their fellow ships when Crewman Frost cut him off.  
“Sir, the Europa-!”  
All eyes were on the viewscreen as a live feed appeared. The Europa hung in space, its saucer section was being carved vertically down the middle, as if some great unseen knife had decided to slowly rend the ship in two. As the hull split for no apparent reason the atmosphere it contained rushed out in a vain and violent attempt to fill the great void, spewing flames like a geyser as it went. The bridge was plunged into silence, no one could find words to speak, or actions to perform that would reverse the horror they were witnessing. The source of the devastation made itself known as a new ship appeared, Klingon judging by the design. As it fizzled into space it fit perfectly into the groove it had just rammed into the Admirals ship. The newcomer was an absolute goliath compared to the prey it had impaled.  
“The Europas overloading their warp core.”  
A moment later the Admirals ship self destructed, a final middle finger to the enemy that had tried to claim it. The two ships were quickly swallowed in blinding flames. Once the glare from the explosion faded all that remained was open space. Smith thought he saw escape pods scurrying from the Admirals ship before the blast, but it had been hard to tell. All he could think about was the rising death toll. 

Checkmate.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle continued for a short while afterwards. A fresh wave of enemy vessels entered. The damage and losses continued to mount and eventually a call to fall back was ordered to any ship left standing. The Earhart tucked tail and ran, but not without Edison in tow, who had lost power to their warp engines.

Smith rested his head in his hands, his arms braced against his ready room table. The room looked like a torpedo had gone off in it. Part of the ceiling had collapsed at some point during the battle, leaving a support beam hanging at an angle from the ceiling, dressed with the wires and circuits it had ripped in its throes. His stuff lay scattered and only a few lights still worked, reflecting the gloom Smith felt inside. Several reports lay scattered before him; casualty lists, damage reports, repair estimates. He ran one hand through his hair. To his left the viewport offered a lovely view of a dense, sickly, purple and yellow fog. The nebula had a scattering affect on sensors which Trott assured him would mask them from the Klingons, at the expense of also not being able to see outside. Together they had sought refuge with the Edison within a large, naturally occurring chamber.  
Leaving the Commander at the conn Captain Smith removed himself to his office to regain some of his composure. But he found no solace in the work laid out before him. The death toll had rose to twenty-four on his ship alone, with three more in critical condition. He scrolled through the list of names, twenty-four men and women he cared for and supported were now gone. Their lives snuffed in a needless fight.  
“Incoming message from the Edison, Sir, it's Captain Brindley.” Hornby announced over the intercom.  
“Patch it through here, please.”  
A moment later a pale and skinny holographic representation of Captain Lewis Brindley stood before him.  
“Good evening, how're you holding up?” The hologram directed at him, a slight undertone of concern in his voice. Smith considered his answer for a second. As he reclined back into his chair he wondered when he'd lost track of time.  
“I've lost twenty-four people.” Smith blurted out. For a moment Lewis didn't reply. The statement hung in the air like an unwelcome guest.  
“We've taken some heavy losses on our side too.”  
“How do we do it?”  
“Keep going?”  
Smith nodded.  
“We have to. You can't let those peoples deaths be for nothing and you certainly can't be willing to lay down and give up, cos you look like you're just about there.”  
Brindley's blunt honesty could be hit-or-miss at times, but at least you knew where you stood.  
“I've never lost anyone under my command, though.”  
“The way things went today I think-” he paused for a moment, glancing out the window with a twinkle in his eye. Smith nodded slowly as Lewis continued, “We can only do what we're capable of and hope our training covers the rest. No one steps into this job blindly, and the Federation isn't exactly a military. But you knew the day you set foot down this road there were risks involved. It's the same for everyone else.”  
As always he appreciated having Lewis to talk to. He was really the only other person he could open up to about this stuff. The crew could see him as nothing less than perfect, otherwise they lost faith, and they all needed something to believe in, now more than ever.  
“Have you read the quote on your plaque?”  
“What?” The question took Smith aback, “'Course I've bloody read it, I picked it.”  
“Well maybe give it another look over, it's good advice.” Lewis paused a moment before continuing. “Until we clear the nebula we're out of contact with Starfleet. How are repairs coming along?”  
“They gave us a hell of a thrashing before we pulled out, at the earliest we're looking to head out in-” he paused to double check the numbers, - ”eighteen hours. You?”  
Lewis' eyes widened, “Eight- Eighteen hours?! J-Jesus, Alex! Think yourself lucky!” He stammered. “The -the buggers practically- no, literally tore my ship a new arsehole back there! I'm looking at nearly a weeks worth of work!”  
Smith couldn't help but bark a laugh at the crude (but accurate) analogy.  
“Relax, it's not like I'm gonna leave without you. Once repairs are complete over here I'll have teams across to help you out.”  
Lewis smirked in return, part at his own sense of humour, part at his comrades offer of help. “Thanks, I guess I'll have to get a tab going for your services.”  
“Naturally. Only fair to mention at this point I charge by the hour.”  
Captain Brindley scoffed, tugging the hem of his uniform shirt, “if you'll excuse me, I have some duties to attend. If you need anything else, I'm right next door.” He offered.  
“We'll try and keep the noise down.” Captain Smith quipped.  
“Brindley out,” Lewis said, and with that the avatar disappeared. 

Back on the bridge the crew were already set on a tight repair schedule. Technicians and officers decorated the bridge, removing debris, rebuilding consoles, replacing circuits. Commander Hornby had his attention mostly fixed on his console, mostly. He tried not to worry about his Captain as he re-directed power around the ship, bypassing damaged junctions. But the knot in his stomach seemed to be demanding as much attention as his duties. Alex Smith wasn't just his superior officer, they had grown close friends over their years of service together, perhaps closer. The tormented look he'd caught on Smiths face before he sulked off was haunting. It only took Ross a split second deduce what the man was thinking: _'A lot of the crew were new, I caused their deaths, it's my fault.'_  
“Try it now.” Ross suggested to Trott, who stood at the communication panel. He watched as the Lieutenant tapped a few commands into the computer, but the indicator light remained a solid red.  
“Nope.”  
Ross groaned his frustration, rubbing his tired eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been up, but the events of the day were taking their toll.  
“The problem might be to do with the EPS grid-”  
“I've just re-aligned the EPS grid.” Ross hissed.  
Trott turned to face the Commander, his eyes flicking to the Captains ready room over his shoulder.  
“You too?” Ross asked, his ire calming as he spotted the worried look about his colleagues features.  
“We've never been hit this hard, or lost anyone like this before.” Trott replied in a hushed tone, not wanting the nearby officers to eavesdrop.  
“I'll keep a close eye on him, that's what First Officers are for right?”  
“And do his bidding, you're pretty much his bitch.”  
“That kind of talk can get you thrown in the brig.” Ross dead panned.  
Trott chuckled at the empty threat, “Shit banter, mate.”  
The two men shared a quiet laugh to themselves, and for that moment they weren't surrounded by charred circuits and lingering fumes, they were somewhere closer to what felt like home.  
The ready room doors parted to reveal Captain Smith stood in the threshold. Ross and Trott both offered an optimistic grin. Smiths posture was still one of defeat, but the dark cloud seemed to have lifted somewhat. The call from Captain Brindley seemed to have done some good. Smith made his way on to the bridge proper and Ross moved to meet him, leaving Trott to carry on the repair work.  
“Captain, everything OK over there?” Ross asked, gesturing to the Edison that sat on the viewscreen.  
Smith nodded as he sat in the centre seat, “They're a little worse for wear but they'll pull through, escort classes can't take as much of a beating. They're having to set up camp here for a while.”  
“Lovely weather for it.”  
“How's our old girl holding up?”  
“She's on the mend, but me and Trott still can't get anything out of the subspace radio.”  
Smith nodded his understanding. Ross watched as the Captain slowly swivelled in his chair, taking in the sights and sounds of the bridge, but more importantly, the crew.  
“You've got a good bunch here, Cap'n.” Ross assured him.  
Quite unexpectedly, Alex rose back up and moved across the bridge, Ross shadowed him like a curious puppy. For a moment he thought the man was intending to leave by the turbolift but he stopped at the commemorative plaque on the wall there. The metallic plate recorded the ships class, launch date, and the builders. Ross cocked his head slightly to get a better look at Alexs face, who was scanning an inscription along the bottom.  
“Everything alright?”  
“Amelia Earhart,” Alex said softly.  
“What about her?”  
“She's the ships namesake.”  
“...I'm not following,” Ross admitted.  
Alex shook his head. “It's just something Captain Brindley mentioned. The inscription here is a quote of hers.” Alex smiled gently at some private, unseen thought. Whatever he was thinking it warmed Ross' heart to see. Alex moved back to the centre of the room with renewed purpose and vigour. He began issuing orders to the crew and a new energy seemed to wash over the room. Ross loitered around the plaque. He took a moment to actually read the words of wisdom that he had walked past all these years but never bothered to memorise:

_The most effective way to do it, is to do it._


End file.
